The music gives people hope that their dreams will come true, awakening the pain in their body and soothing it.

The song is so wonderful that Sasha seems to be lost in a dark station, and suddenly she finds a lamp, and in its shadow, she finds the exit.

She stood next to an arms tent, and in front of her stood a piece of plywood with knives of all kinds, ranging from pocket folding knives to sharp hunting knives.

The two parts of her body began to clash fiercely.

The idea in her head was so simple that it made her want to move.

The old man gave her a handful of bullets to carry with her, just enough to replace a notched black silver knife—its blade was wide and well-polished, perfect for the man at heart.

A minute later, Sasha bought the knife, ignoring the overwhelming thoughts in her mind.

She hid it in the breast pocket of her overalls.

When she returned to the military hospital, she could neither feel the scruffiness of the soldier's coat nor forget the discomfort on her arm.

The crowd was a full head taller than the girl, and Sasha couldn't see the musician playing such an amazing piece in the distance, but the melody tried to chase after the girl, release her, and dissuade her.

Futile.

-------------------------

There was another knock on the door.

Homer gasped and struggled to his feet, wiped the corners of his mouth with his sleeve, and jerked the metal chain of the tank, leaving a brown mark on the green dirty cotton demon.

He had vomited 5 times in one day and one night, although he had not eaten anything. @

There can be many causes of this condition, and the old man comforts himself.

Why is this damn disease progressing so fast?

Maybe in fact......

"Soon?!" A scathing female voice shouted impatiently.

God!

Could it be that you were in too much of a hurry and read the wrong letter on the door?

Homer wiped his sweat with his dirty sleeve, forced his composure, and toggled the latch.

"Drunkard!" A woman in costume pushed him away angrily and slammed her mouth shut.

The old man was at a loss, so let her take him for a drunkard......

Homer moved to the mirror on the sink and supported himself with his forehead.

He looked at himself in the mirror and gasped: the mask slipped off and hung on his chin.

Homer quickly pulled it back into place and closed his eyes again.

He couldn't help but think that he spread death to everyone he came into contact with along the way.

It was too late to turn away: if he had already been infected, if he had not been mistaken about the symptoms he was experiencing, then the entire station would have been doomed.

Just like this woman just now, her mistake was that her body had an urgent need at the wrong time.

Do you want to tell her now that she'll be dead in a month at the latest?

How stupid, Homer thought, stupidity and incompetence!

He wanted to dedicate his book to those who had left important marks in his lives so that they could live forever, but instead sent them the Angel of Death—ugly, bald, and not strong.

The angel's wings were cut off and he was tied to a ring that prescribed that it could only act after 30 days.

Is this a punishment for his overconfidence and arrogance?

No, Homer could no longer hide it.

But there is only one person in this world who can listen to his confession, and Homer can hide nothing from him, and if both of them open their cards to play, then both of them will feel much more relaxed.

He staggered back to the hospital room to rest.

His ward was at the end of the hallway, and there was usually an assistant nurse on duty next to the door, but now he didn't know where to go.

Thick breathing came from his mouth in punctuation, and the words were staccato so that even Homer, who was standing in the doorway with bated breath, could not put the individual words together to make out what they meant.

"It hurts more...... Struggle...... Should...... Still makes sense...... Struggle....

… Remember...... There is also the possibility of making mistakes...... Revile...... But it's still ......"

The words turned into crying, as if the pain was too much to bear.

Homer walked in.

Su Mengfan unconsciously lay on the crumpled sheets soaked in blood.

The bandages wrapped around his skull, nearly covering his eyes, his towering cheekbones were covered in sweat, and his dislocated jaw was limply falling off.

Coughing violently, his broad and strong chest rose and fell like a fur made of iron, and that faint breath was not enough for such a strong body.

And Hunter just treated it briefly and left, like a robot, tireless.

The girl on the pillow stood with her back to Homer, her slender hands folded behind her back.

Homer glanced at her, and at first did not notice the black machete that blended with the fabric of her overalls, and the girl held the handle of the knife tightly with her hand.

-------------------------

Honk.

Doodle. Honk......

1235。

1236。

1237。

Artyom counted, and he didn't do this to gather evidence to defend himself in front of the commander.

He counted to feel himself moving.

He moved forward from one point to another, counting each beep, so that with each beep he heard, he was farther away from where the madness had happened.

Deceive oneself as well as others?

Yes, even if it's self-numbing. Paralyze.

The "beep" sound in the brief never seems to stop - it is unbearable.

Although he liked the sound at the beginning of his duty: this "beep" sound was like a metronome, harmonizing discordant thoughts, emptying his brain, adjusting the fast-beating pulse to a normal speed.

But the sound was so regular that Artyom began to feel like he was caught in a trap of time, from which he would never be able to escape if the sound did not stop.

This regular sound makes Artyom feel natural and comfortable, like the beating of the heart in a tense situation, which makes people very uncomfortable.

In the Middle Ages, there was a method of torture: people shaved the criminal's hair, placed a bucket above his head, and the water dripped down on the tip of his bald head, and everyone who received this punishment eventually went mad and lost his mind. When people are unable to hang prisoners on torture racks to be beaten, the use of ordinary water often works surprisingly well.

Artyom was so tightly entangled in the phone line that he had no right to leave it for even a second.

While on duty, he tried his best not to drink, because he could not be distracted by the "beep" sound.

Two days ago he didn't hold on, slipped out of the room, and ran to the bathroom as fast as he could—and back in no time.

As soon as he arrived at the door of the room, he heard a "beep" sound.

His heart cooled completely: the frequency of the beep was different from the original, and the signal was faster, different from the usual moderate speed.